


A Vicious Devotion

by miltonicsimile



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Betrayal, Coup d'état, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Espionage, Family Secrets, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Political Alliances, Swordfighting, Too much world building, hyuckil endgame, markhyuck, markhyuck unrequited, murder....?, this got called mark lee virgin propagnda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miltonicsimile/pseuds/miltonicsimile
Summary: After a lifetime of training, Haechan is sent on the orders of his guardian to the kingdom's capital. His mission? Infiltrate the core of the palace court, collect secrets, and most importantly, befriend the younger prince, Mark.The only problem is that Prince Mark isn't used to being challenged, and Haechan is nothing if not challenging. Their relationship is complicated by the secrets Haechan is keeping. Mainly, that he is trying to overthrow the king. And perhaps even worse, secrets he doesn't know he's carrying.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Moon Taeil
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	A Vicious Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> -hm.....dont like ....expect me to ...finish this fic soon.....day 14 of isolation got me bored...though i do have 27k written so like...do not panic  
> -the pov will switch btwn markhyuck after the epilogue  
> -i literally started writing this last year when i was on a high fantasy reading kick and like....you can tell
> 
> -the way i describe donghyuck in this fic is like 100% this [art](https://twitter.com/lunnarsystem/status/1166091527350816771?s=20) like....i cant stop thinking about long braid donghyuck,,,,,, pls save me

Taeil pulls the hood of his thick woollen cloak closer as he makes his way through the crowded tavern.

He hasn’t been to the kingdom’s capital city in years, but still, he can’t help but feel the need to move through the throng of the crowd unnoticed. Like a ghost, or at least as unnoticed as possible. Some would call him paranoid, but he of all people know there are eyes everywhere in this city. Nowhere is safe, not even a boorish bar like this.

The tavern is busy. It’s close enough to the center of the city anyone with a few coins and even fewer morals can find themselves welcomed. It is far from some of the other, fancy places he had meetings here in the capital as a younger man. But perhaps this is for the best.

As Taeil pushes his way into the belly of the building, weaving between wooden pillars with decades worth of crude carvings in them and unsteady drunk patrons. His gaze skims over the low ceilings and two enormous stone and mud fireplaces at either end. The wooden floors are covered in a layer of filth tracked in from the streets and another of spilled drinks. The entire tavern reeks of fermentation and sweat, and just faintly, of vomit. As far as clandestine meeting places go, Taeil has seen and smelled worse. Which is unfortunate.

He goes up to the bar counter and leans over, raising a hand towards the tall girl behind. Her hair is cut short and severe like a solider. But she clearly isn’t one if she is here, and not off with the Crown Prince fighting. Taeil wonders briefly if she has family in the military, perhaps her father or an older sister. Fifteen years ago, it was a braid that was the sign of a soldier, but back then the military had been under a different king. Things have changed, and perhaps greater change is yet to come. Taeil can only pray to the poets.

“What will it be?” The bartender calls out to him over the noise of the other patrons. It is late enough people are laughing loudly, voices raised in their merriment. She brings three tankards full of ale thudding onto the counter in front of a group of men to Taeil’s right, who hoot in delight at the sight.

“Is the ale good here?” he asks her when she turns to him, forearm sweeping across her brow.

“It’s like drinking piss.”

Taeil should not talk more than he needs to, but he cannot hold back his laugh. “Honesty is rare in a place like this.” He says with a small smile. He’s never been a man of many words but can’t help commenting, “I cannot tell if you are the smartest person in this room or the daftest. Either way, you won’t sell much with that glowing review.”

“My opinion is rarely asked for, nor would it be the deciding factor for most. Besides, the wine is decent,” she says, taking a copper pitcher and holding it beneath a massive barrel of wine, turning the spout, filling it. The wine pours out fast and dark like a cut artery. “It’s not great, but it’s not bad.”

“Thank you,” Taeil says, taking out a few coins and setting them on the scratched and sticky wooden counter. He takes the pitcher and a cup from her and nods. “It’ll do perfectly.”

He did not come here to get drunk. But she does not need to know that and neither does anyone else. Besides, after his long journey, he does have a thirst and the wine is welcome.

After a quick scan of the tavern, Taeil spots the man he is looking for at a table at the back corner of the room. Exactly where the letter had said he would be.

The table is half in shadows, one candle at the center sitting in a puddle of wax, illuminating the unmistakable profile of the current king’s advisor.

He walks over carefully, minding both the wine in his hands and the other patrons who fill the room. None of them pay him any mind, which is probably for the best, despite a woman almost knocking the wine from his hands as he squeezes between two tables.

“Greetings from the poet’s king,” Taeil says, setting the pitcher of wine on the table with the cup. He sits down across from the other man, the crude wooden chair creaking under his weight.

It has been nearly two years since they had last met in person. His friend has not aged, his skin still marble-smooth contrasting his sharp dark intelligent eyes. Still as impossibly beautiful as he is clever.

“Greetings from the _only_ king,” Doyoung answers. He pauses for a moment, taking a long pull from his cup, emptying it. He lets out a little shudder as he swallows, the contents obviously quite strong.

Finally, he looks at Taeil and offers the faintest hints of a smile. It’s a shadow of his true smile, the one Taeil can remember warming his heart as a child, spreading wide across Doyoung’s face so brightly that you could not do anything but grin back. “How are things in the south of our dear kingdom? Have you heard anything of interest lately?”

“It’s still hot, though autumn is not far. The crops grow well, our markets are full. Trade with both the islanders and the cities across the sea remains strong.”

Doyoung nods, taking the jug of wine and filling his cup then Taeil’s as well. There is no one to serve them here, something they’re both unused to, given their positions. “So, your pockets are remaining full. Though, even in hard times, you are not someone who would have cause to worry.”

A true enough statement, Taeil has to agree. He is no fool, and he has not spent years working for less than security or power. For money. And unless he is struck down but a higher power, Taeil’s pockets will never be empty for as long as he lives. His friend knows this as well as him.

“And the journey here?”

“The ride was too long, and my ass is sore,” Taeil says with a shrug, adjusting his cloak. He doesn’t remove his hood though, not even in this dark corner of the tavern. “But other than that, the poets have kept me safe and I cannot complain.” He takes a drink from his cup and swallows.

Doyoung, upon seeing this, follows suit.

They are friends. Allies. But still, there is a certain level of caution, whether is it out of habit and ingrained in them from years of living as they do. Taeil supposes there has to be if one is to survive. And both he and Doyoung have done more than survived. They’ve flourished while others have burned, and they aren’t even close to finished yet. They have big plans. They will arise from the ashes more glorious than before.

Across from him, Doyoung hums a gentle tune into his wine, staring at the fire burning on the other side of the room. He has a good voice, Taeil can remember the two of them singing together as children, both of them competing who could be the loudest, only for them to get scolded for being disruptive. They had always just run away laughing, never taking anything seriously. Things had been different then, under a different king and the easy comfort of childhood.

Finally, Doyoung glances over and sighs. “We need a new approach. Time is not our friend in this matter. The longer the crown sits on the usurper’s head the longer the people forget their allegiances to the true high king and the rest of the imperial family.”

These are words that if fallen upon the wrong ear, would land both of their heads on spikes. At the very _least_. What they speak is treason. But allowing a man with no claim but a bloody sword to sit with the crown on his head is far more treasonous in Taeil’s opinion. His loyalty is to his _kingdom_ , not the current wearer of the crown.

“The usurper was the one who brought war to our country.” Taeil comments. He fails to voice how most of the common people also do not give a _damn_ whose head the crown sits upon as long as there is peace. But he is no fool. He has enough spies throughout the kingdom to know that all the people truly want is a good harvest in the fall and a short winter. They want a peaceful and flourishing kingdom where they need not fear going to bed hungry or being attacked by enemy soldiers.

But as things are, many still live in the shadows of fear cast by the usurper king. Things throughout their kingdom in the past few years has been off, to put it mildly. Droughts and famine in the east. Flooding not far from here, just south of the capital city itself. Things are out of align, and people common and noble alike spend days praying to the poets for peace. Taeil knows that their actions are futile while the crown sits upon the head of a murderer.

And Doyoung thinks all of this is because the poet’s chosen royal family have been removed. He is also willing to do anything to amended this wrong. He’s also smart enough he just may be able to do that. And Taeil, unfortunately, has had a softness for two things since he was young: Doyoung and the idea of more power.

“I’m running out of ideas,” Doyoung admits. “It’s the identified _weakness_. Any other man would have been ours by now. He’s not persuaded by any of the delightful sins I dangle before him. Not money, not fame, not women, not power.” Doyoung shakes his head slightly, exasperated. “I know he’s barely more than a _boy_ , but still!”

“You would think that would make it _easier_.”

In Taeil’s mind, there should be nothing easier than trying to corrupt a twenty-year-old boy who remembers naught of war and only knows of luxury and comfort. A named prince of the kingdom, the second son, should be bored and willing to take up a vice or two. He _should_ be malleable. He should be _theirs._

Doyoung manages a weak laugh. “You really would. But the boy is not interested. He is young surely, but I know him well enough. He is not stupid. Just young. Still, he is the weak link and our way of taking back what was stolen. We must find a new approach!”

Taeil takes another sip of wine. The girl tending bar was right, it isn’t bad. Cheap and warm, but it’s worth what he paid. “You’ve drained your resources on this matter? You don’t have any bigger jewels? Prettier girls? Better positions of power to offer?”

“I hate to admit defeat, but yes. If you any ideas, speak now.”

The confession is somewhat surprising. If anyone is capable of what they intend, of planning this coup, it is Doyoung. Taeil has known the other man since they were boys. He knows Doyoung is smart, cunning, and ruthless. He always thinks before he speaks. He has mastered a formula in his actions and words that have made him so successful. He’s managed to secure himself the position of the usurper king’s advisor, all the while planning his demise. If Doyoung is unsure how to proceed, perhaps it calls for a more dramatic and direct approach.

Taeil drums his ring laden fingers on the rough wood table. There are crude drawings carved into the wood next to initials and little hearts. He licks his lips and looks over at Doyoung. “There is always _the_ _boy_.”

Instantly, Doyoung stiffens and looks at him sharply, eyes narrowed. “You cannot be serious. He is barely more than a child. And far too valuable to risk.”

“You do not know him as I do,” Taeil says, with a shake of his head. “There is no denying his blood. He is fire incarnate, for better or worse. And he’s fully capable of anything we require. Besides, he’s near of age with the youngest prince.”

“But the risk!”

“He is smart. I’ve had him trained in a dozen languages, music, history, politics, trade, and of course, swordplay. He knows how to read the stars. He can poison a man and stitch close an open wound. And he is ready for court, trust me, he can charm his way out of any situation.” Taeil says with a rueful chuckle. Offhand, he can recall a dozen instances of the skillful manipulation capable of only a politician or a courtesan. “I’ve seen him make a whore blush. There is nothing he is not capable of, I fear.”

Taeil does not voice his other fears.

Doyoung smirks and lifts a brow. “By the poets, I am afraid that perhaps you and your…lifestyle have provided more than a well-rounded education. Maybe it was a foolish move to hide the boy with you. You never did tell us where exactly you have raised him, and I’m afraid the type of persons you have surrounded him by will have influenced him beyond repair now.”

“He is exactly what we need to succeed,” Taeil says simply. He doesn’t doubt this, but he also secretly fears the costs of success. “And keeping him out of the capital was for the boy’s safety. No one knows who he truly is beside me.” He insists, taking another sip of wine. He looks at Doyoung, holding his gaze for a long moment. “But of course, I am a businessman and a man who loves his kingdom, nothing more. And at present, I am interested in the business of returning the crown to its rightful place. I say we send in our best weapon: _Haechan_.”

What Taeil does not say is this: the boy he has raised has grown into a creature that is capricious, sarcastic and prideful. Yet, he is adorable and affectionate. It is more than his unusual upbringing. He is flirtatious, manipulative and more skilled with a blade than anyone he’s ever seen. Haechan is _dangerous_. And perhaps the most frightening part of all is that the boy doesn’t even know half of what he’s capable of - or _who_ he truly is. And because Taeil loves him, it will stay that way a bit longer.

Doyoung stares at him, eyes narrowing slightly, calculating. Finally, he nods. “Very well. The poets are on our side, luckily. Have the arrangements made. And, Taeil?”

“Yes?”

“Remember, it’s only treason if we don’t win.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wizardwonu)


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